Lipstick
‘Yeah, well… boys will be boys,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that you shouldn’t read anything into it.’
Continue readingWriting & Other Things
‘Yeah, well… boys will be boys,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that you shouldn’t read anything into it.’
Continue readingHe could sit here forever and be happy. He’s said that too. More than once.
‘Do you know what? I’m happy, so I am. Really, I am.’
They cling to the branches a little longer this year, and it takes a second storm to scatter them. One rainy morning she rakes them into a pile, and the loamy smell sparks a memory. Abby’s voice caught in the drizzle.
“I never know if this is the beginning or the end.”
I drew a line of my own, but did not tell you. It followed the contours and undulations of your steadfast delineation. Rising and falling in parallel. Stretching forward to the horizon, to a point where the world falls beyond reach.
Continue readingThe idea comes at night, of course. It creeps up the stairs to the bedroom where you sleep, and you wipe it away, this thing which brushes the skin of your forehead. But it finds a way in, and whispers to you, ‘hush, hush.’
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